


a breath of myth and mystery

by abovetheruins



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fae & Fairies, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 20:59:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15494580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: "Just. Look." Ryan reaches for the hem of his hoodie, twisting around so that his back is to Shane, and slowly starts to pull it over his head.At first Shane has no idea what the whole song and dance routine is about. All he sees is the familiar broad span of Ryan's back, the dimples resting just above his ass, the dip of his spine, and miles of bronze skin, until Ryan nudges his hoodie further up the length of his back, wincing as he carefully maneuvers the hem over what Shane realizes aren't actually folds in the fabric but lumps beneath it.No, not lumps.Wings.





	a breath of myth and mystery

**Author's Note:**

> There was a prompt for wing fic on the kinkmeme and it was on the list for the Shyan Scavenger Hunt this month, so clearly the universe wanted me to write this. Didn't expect it to be quite this long, but when can I ever write anything short?
> 
> Minimal research was done for this fic, so I apologize in advance if I flubbed any of the info mentioned on wing anatomy/upkeep!

It's warm on Monday morning, meaning Shane's going to end the day sweating in his layers, so he's a little surprised when Ryan stumbles into the office wearing a hoodie that looks about two sizes too big on him. 

And he does actually _stumble_ in, looking way worse for wear than when Shane had seen him last, just a couple of days ago when they'd parted ways after their latest ghost-hunting adventure. They'd spent two days tromping around a supposedly haunted forest in Pennsylvania and had gotten permission to camp out there for a night, both of which Shane had actually enjoyed, but after hours of hiking through dense woods and spending a night constantly jerked awake by Ryan's fidgeting, Shane had needed the rest of the weekend to recuperate. He'd figured Ryan had been in the same boat, considering he hadn't heard much from him and Shane’s invite to come over - _movie+popcorn+becoming one with my couch. you in?_ \- had been rebuffed with a short _exhausted from the trip. raincheck?_

He'd be lying if he said he hadn’t been disappointed, not to mention a little concerned. After an investigation Ryan usually went over the footage they'd captured at home regardless of how tired he was, and never failed to text Shane about whatever shreds of "compelling" evidence he managed to find. He hadn’t mentioned anything about their trip at all.

And fuck, Ryan looks _awful_. Shane can't resist whistling low as he approaches their desks. "You look... not great, man."

Ryan shoots him a look, the ferocity of his glare somewhat tempered by the ring of bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes. He looks exhausted. "You're not exactly a breath of fresh air yourself, asshole," he mumbles, falling into his seat with an unsteady wobble that concerns Shane far more than the lackluster insult (although, truth be told, that concerns him, too). 

"Is everything okay?" he asks, tracing a subtle eye over his friend. Ryan's sporting a tight, pinched look on his face along with those heavy bags beneath his eyes, and he's hunched forward so far in his chair Shane almost expects him to tumble out of it. Anybody else would just assume he's hungover, and he does look it, all tired and drained and clad in baggy clothes, but Shane's seen hungover Ryan more times than he can count and this... this is something else. 

Ryan doesn't answer, and Shane leans closer, softening his voice. "Ry? You're starting to worry me a little, babe." He doesn't actually mean to drop the endearment; those are still pretty new, and they've yet to really bust them out in the office considering that not everybody knows about the most recent change to their ever-evolving relationship. 

It seems to do the trick, though. Ryan breathes out a heavy sigh and twists in his chair, and though everything about his hunched shoulders and downcast eyes screams _back off_ , he doesn't flinch back when Shane rolls his chair over, close enough to knock their knees together. 

"I need - " Ryan starts, only to sigh again and run a hand through his hair. It lacks any product today, and the rough pass of Ryan's hand through it leaves it fluffy and disheveled atop his head. "I need to show you something."

Shane waits, expectant, but nothing else seems to be forthcoming. "Okay... ?" 

Ryan rolls his eyes, his obvious annoyance at Shane making him look more like himself and less... well, haunted. "Not _here_. After work, at my place. Could you come over? Please?"

Shane's worry ratchets up a couple dozen notches at Ryan's _please_ , unnecessary as it is. He usually only hears that tone of voice, pleading and a little desperate, when they're on location and Ryan's toeing the line between fleeing the room or having a low-grade panic attack. 

"Sure thing," he answers, biting his tongue against the questions wanting to spill out. Ryan looks withdrawn enough as it is; Shane doesn't want to make it worse. He takes a careful glance around the office - it's still early, the area around their desks empty of people - and curls a hand around Ryan's knee, giving it a squeeze.

He's rewarded with a smile. It's small, and it fails to detract from the bags under his eyes or the exhausted slump of his shoulders, but it's there, and it's _Ryan's_ , and Shane basks in it, just like he basks in Ryan's soft, "Thanks, man."

"No problem, baby," Shane replies, a hint of his usual exuberance in his voice. He squeezes Ryan's knee once more before he turns back to his desk, though he keeps his chair close by Ryan's, just in case. "Let's get to work!"

The day drags a bit, but that's to be expected. Shane knows there's something going on, and though he doesn't know what it is, it's clear enough that it's affecting Ryan in a negative way – he's distracted and fidgety throughout the morning, the toe of his sneaker tapping out a frantic rhythm beneath his desk, and he's hunched over his keyboard so far that even glancing at the curve of his spine makes Shane's back ache in sympathy. 

He's also been stuck on the same frame of footage for the last half hour. Shane recognizes it from their jaunt through the woods: he's standing on a fallen log and surveying the stretch of misty forest around them while Ryan talks about the history of the place, how the area was known for its winding pathways and rumors of ghost and fairy activity. 

_Fairies?_ Shane remembers asking, laughter in his voice. _Really, Ryan? That’s what we’re going with now? Fairies?_

_I’m not saying I believe in them_ , Ryan had replied, in the same tone of voice he’d used to insist he wasn’t an orb guy, _but there's plenty of references to them in cultures the whole world over, and some of the rumors surrounding this forest mentioned them specifically, so_.

_You’re not saying you don’t believe in them, either_ , Shane had returned, lips twitching as Ryan let out a gusty sigh. _I mean, ghosts are one thing, but I don’t think I can associate with someone who believes in fairies, Ryan_.

_Shane, shut the fuck up and let me finish_.

"Ryan," Shane says, after Ryan has rewound and watched the same clip another three times. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Ryan hesitates for a few seconds before he pulls his headphones off, letting them rest around his neck. "I'm okay,” he says, though it’s guarded, like he’s deflecting. “Just tired, you know?"

"Maybe you should head home early," Shane suggests, trying not to channel his mother. Ryan's not such a big fan of being coddled.

Ryan chews on his lower lip, his eyes focused on his screen but hazy, as if he's staring through it. "Yeah... " he concedes eventually. "I think - I think I will. Will you still... ?" 

"I'll come over straight from work," Shane promises, his outward appearance belying the absolute mess of worry and confusion his insides have become. He feels better when Ryan smiles, clearly pleased by his answer. "Go on, up you go. Did you drive this morning?"

Ryan shakes his head in the negative, reaching for his phone. "Got a ride. Didn't think - uh." He trails off, but Shane's able to infer the rest. _Didn’t think it was a good idea_.

"Get some sleep, okay?" he says, unable to hide the concern in his voice. Ryan can make fun of him for it all he wants later. "I'll bring Chipotle with me, too. How's that sound? Your favorite food and your favorite person, you can't beat that combo."

Ryan huffs out a breath. "Okay, _Mom_ ," he says, annoyed, though the slight curl of his lips betrays his amusement.

Shane grins. "Your mother's a lovely woman, so I'll take that as a compliment, thank you."

Ryan shakes his head, a soft ping emanating from his phone and drawing his attention. "My ride's here. I'll - I'll see you later." He reaches for his bag and climbs to his feet, hesitating for a moment before ducking down and dropping a quick kiss to Shane's lips. He's gone before Shane can react, leaving Shane to stare after him with parted lips and the distinct impression that he's being ogled by a couple of nosy coworkers.

"Huh," he says to no one. It takes a few moments for him to turn back to his computer, and longer still for him to remember what he was even working on. It probably won’t make much of a difference in the long run; his mind’s a million miles away from any of the topics he’d been researching, and it shows.

He lasts another two hours before he finally says fuck it and reaches for his bag. He's worried about Ryan and too distracted to get anymore work done, anyway.

Another half an hour sees him at Ryan's apartment, bag of Chipotle in hand and smile firmly in place as Ryan opens the door, clad in the same baggy hoodie he’d been wearing at the office and a pair of shorts, glasses perched on his nose. He still looks like death warmed over, though Shane hopes he managed to grab a couple of hours sleep. 

"I come bearing gifts!" he says, holding up the bag. "And food, of course." He tosses in a smirk for good measure, glad to see the familiar twist of Ryan's lips – it’s the same reluctant smile he always wears whenever he's trying not to laugh at Shane's shenanigans, an ultimately fruitless endeavor. 

"Just get in before I change my mind," Ryan sighs, and Shane doesn't need to be told twice.

They wind up in the living room, their spread scattered across the coffee table. Ryan had been in the middle of a movie when Shane arrived - _Paddington_ , Shane had noticed with a twinge of fondness - and it plays on softly in the background as they eat, though Shane's too busy studying Ryan to pay any attention to the screen. He's holding himself stiffly, just like he had been at the office, and his shoulders are hunched forward oddly, like he wants to avoid pressing his back against the couch. 

"Did something happen over the weekend?" Shane asks eventually, laying the remnants of his burrito back on his plate. Ryan chews slowly, eyes flickering from the screen to Shane and back again before he swallows, sighs softly, and follows suit, pushing his plate away.

"Do you remember the fairy ring?" he asks, and adds, at Shane's blank look, "In Pennsylvania. The forest? You made us dance in it."

_Oh_. Yeah, that rang a few bells. "The mushrooms," Shane says, nodding. They'd been growing in a ring deep into the forest; they'd stumbled across them right as night was settling in, a circle of mottled white and brown bulbs poking out of the ground. 

Ryan hadn't wanted to go near it, Shane remembers, and had spouted off some sort of nonsense about fairies and witches and something about dancing. That had just set Shane off - tired and sore and a little delirious from hours of trekking through the woods and watching Ryan jump at nothing, he had grabbed for Ryan's hands and pulled him into the ring, twirling them around like a couple of drunk kids at prom. Ryan had been stiff at first, eyeing the ring like one of the shrooms was going to come to life and bite him, but he'd eventually caved under the sheer force of Shane's enthusiasm, the soft wheeze of his laughter and T.J.'s muffled snickering from behind the camera echoing over the sound of shifting brush and wind through the trees.

"I felt fine until the night we came home," Ryan continues, his fingers plucking nervously at the hem of his hoodie. "I was so fucking tired, and everything ached, but I figured it was just - traveling and sleeping in a tent in the fucking woods and - I just went to bed. But then when I woke up... " He chews on his lip, red already from the abuse he's put it through all day, and rises to his feet. "Just. Don't freak out, okay? I've already done that, and now I just want to show you and be sure I'm not actually losing my goddamn mind."

"Ryan," Shane starts, more confused than ever. "What the hell are you talking about? What happened?"

"Just. Look." Ryan reaches for the hem of his hoodie, twisting around so that his back is to Shane, and slowly starts to pull it over his head. 

At first Shane has no idea what the whole song and dance routine is about. All he sees is the familiar broad span of Ryan's back, the dimples resting just above his ass, the dip of his spine, and miles of bronze skin, until Ryan nudges his hoodie further up the length of his back, wincing as he carefully maneuvers the hem over what Shane realizes aren't actually folds in the fabric but lumps beneath it.

No, not lumps. _Wings_. 

Shane stares, waiting for his eyes to stop fucking with him. Maybe he's still exhausted from the trip. Hell, maybe he's still in bed and dreaming all of this.

But no. He blinks a few dozen times, rubs a hand over his face, and even pinches his arm. The wings are still there. 

"Ryan," he croaks. "What the fuck?"

Ryan's shoulders tremble, the feathers along his upper back rustling with the movement. The wings - they're small, far too small to be anything but decorations on someone Ryan's size, with rounded feathers colored black and steel gray and tipped with white. They're ruffled and messy from being flattened beneath Ryan's hoodie, and some of them poke out at awkward angles. They look light enough, but Ryan hunches beneath them like their weight is bearing him down into the floor. 

"They won't go away," Ryan breathes, and shit, Shane's never heard that tone before - despondent and desperate all at once, thick like Ryan is close to tears. 

"Ry - " he starts, though nothing, no other words, come to mind. What the fuck _can_ he say in a situation like this? A situation that, for all intents and purposes, shouldn't even be fucking possible? But Ryan's quaking beneath a blanket of abject misery and what must be days worth of exhaustion and anxiety, if he's been dealing with this all weekend by himself, and so Shane grapples for the nearest thought at hand and just rolls with it. "What's wrong with them?"

Ryan makes a noise, somewhere between a scoff and a sob. "What do you mean _what's wrong with them_? Besides the fact that they're even fucking _there_ , Shane?"

"No, I mean - " He reaches out, touching a cautious finger to the curve of one wing. Ryan shudders beneath even that light pressure, and Shane jerks his hand away. "They don’t look so good." The feathers lie dull and ragged against Ryan’s back, a few of them darker at the base with what Shane worries is blood, and from the way Ryan's holding himself, shoulders tight and arms wrapped around his waist, he can tell they're hurting him. "Have you done anything to them?"

Ryan blows out an explosive breath, slumping down onto the couch and pressing his face into his hands. "Of course I haven't done anything to them!" he barks, an edge to his words. He's not truly angry, just scared and lashing out, and Shane doesn't take the sharp bite of his voice any more personally now than he would at any of their haunted locations. "I don't want to - to touch them or look at them, I just want them _gone_."

"Hey," Shane says, gentling his voice as he rises from the floor and takes a seat beside Ryan. He slides an arm around his back, well below the wings, and waits until Ryan looks over at him before continuing. "We'll figure it out, okay? We need to take care of you first, though. Do they hurt?"

Ryan nods, slumping heavily against Shane's shoulder. "They ache,” he murmurs, voice softening as the fight drains out of him. “Hurts to move 'em."

"Okay. We're gonna - we're gonna try and fix that first. Sound good?"

Slowly, Ryan nods. Usually Shane would tease him for being so agreeable, but right now his only thought is getting that dismal look off Ryan's face. "Okay, up you go, c'mon, Bergara." 

He coaxes Ryan into the bathroom, stopping by the hall closet to pull out a couple of towels on the way. They perch on the side of the tub while the water warms up, Shane with one hand tucked against Ryan’s back and the other scrolling through an article about bird anatomy on his phone. He assumes the wings are bird wings, anyway, or at least close to it, and he doesn’t want to inadvertently hurt Ryan by mishandling them.

Sticking to warm water and combing damp fingers through the feathers seems to be his best bet, so Shane coaxes Ryan into the tub with a few soft words, more worried than he lets on by Ryan’s almost docile acceptance. He knows it’s a sign of Ryan’s exhaustion, how he just acquiesces to Shane’s request without a single word of protest, pushing his shorts and boxers to the floor and settling into the tub with little more than a quiet sigh, the broad span of his back facing Shane and his knees tucked up against his chest, his head resting on folded arms. Shane kneels on the floor, poised to ignore the inevitable stiffness in his joints, and takes care to keep his touch as light as he can as he wets a cloth and begins to pass it softly over the curve of Ryan’s left wing. Ryan winces at the first touch and Shane freezes, only for Ryan to shake his head and urge him on with a soft, “S’okay, it’s just. Not used to how they feel, still.” His voice wobbles a bit, and Shane hurries to carry on with his task, eager to soothe Ryan in whatever way he can.

It takes a while. The wings are small but Shane doesn’t want to rush, too afraid of causing damage if he isn’t careful. The dark patches at the base of some feathers does turn out to be blood, and it turns his stomach to see the water run pink when he wrings out the washcloth.

He can’t help but think about the weekend, how Ryan had spent the entire time alone like this, and though he doesn’t mean to, he finds himself asking, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? When these – when it happened?”

Ryan’s shoulders draw up, his voice a little muffled from where he’s buried his face within the circle of his arms. “I wanted to. That first morning when I woke up like this, I wanted to call you. Even if there wasn’t anything you could do, I just – “ He trails off, shakes his head, but Shane understands. _I wanted you to be here_. “I was just so goddamn _scared_ , Shane. I couldn’t think. I honestly thought if I just ignored them they’d go away. I’m sorry – “

“Hey, no, you don’t have to do that.” Shane’s not angry, or hurt. He gets it. He understands that Ryan was panicking, scared. “It’s alright, Ry. You don’t have to explain it to me. I just – I hate that you had to deal with it by yourself for so long.” It makes his stomach twist – he knows how Ryan gets when he’s scared, how bad it can be. He has a whole host of techniques squirreled away to calm him down, soothe his fear, but none of them seem viable now, not when they’re dealing with something like this, something so out of the realm of normal that Shane still can’t wrap his head around it, even with the evidence sliding soft and slick beneath his fingers.

“I’m glad you’re here now,” Ryan murmurs, reaching back over his shoulder to grab for Shane’s hand, tangling their fingers together for a moment, both damp and warm from the water, squeezing once before he lets go.

“Glad to hear that, babe,” Shane answers, injecting as much humor into his voice as he’s able. “’Cause there’s no gettin’ rid of me now, you know. You’re stuck with me, Bergara.”

Ryan huffs a laugh into his knees. He doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders drop a little, the rigid length of his spine softening as Shane continues to stroke damp fingers over his wings, carefully smoothing down stray feathers and softly scrubbing away the small traces of blood at their base.

By the time he helps Ryan up and out of the tub half an hour later, Shane’s knees are stiff and his fingers are pruny, but Ryan’s wings look less ragged and dull, healthier beneath the shine of wetness clinging to them, and Ryan himself looks moments away from sleep, his eyes heavy-lidded and his muscles loose. He’s silent as he dries off, Shane at his back passing a towel carefully over damp feathers, and it’s peaceful, somehow. Almost domestic. Kind of nice, actually. Still strange, because there’s nothing normal about the twitching wings beneath his fingers, but the hunched, stiff set of Ryan’s shoulders has eased, and he’s loose-limbed and pliant as Shane urges him toward the bedroom, and it’s good, seeing him like this.

It’s even better when, after he pulls on fresh boxers and slips into bed, he gives Shane a soft, expectant look and murmurs, “You stayin’, big guy?”

As if Shane could say no to him. Nonsense. “Oh, Ryan,” he sighs, all exasperated and fond, and wiggles out of his jeans and boots, leaving them and his flannel on the floor while he climbs into bed.

“What?” Ryan counters, rolling his shoulders and running his hand through his hair as Shane settles in beside him, both nervous ticks meant to distract from the heat in his cheeks. “I wasn’t just gonna assume – “

“You know I’d never pass on a ghouligan slumber party,” he interrupts, and then, a little more carefully, “And you know I’d never leave you to deal with this on your own, either.” He doesn’t have to expound on what _this_ means, but Ryan’s wings twitch atop his shoulders as though they know they’re being talked about.

Ryan doesn’t say anything, not at first, but his hand finds Shane’s across the mattress, squeezing like he’d done in the tub, and words don’t seem to matter much, anyway.

It isn’t until they’re stretched out beneath the blankets, the room dark and their breathing slow and even, that Ryan finally speaks. He’s curled against Shane’s side, his wings preventing him from sleeping comfortably on his back, and though it’s tempered by his exhaustion, there’s no mistaking the fear in his voice.

“What am I gonna do, Shane? What if they don’t go away? What if I’m stuck like this, with these – ?” He trails off, the click of his throat audible in the silence as he swallows.

Shane draws him closer, pushes long fingers through his hair and holds on tight. “Then I’ll go back to Pennsylvania and dance in every shitty fairy ring until they give me feathers, too.”

 

Shane wakes to the buzz of his alarm and the soft fuzz of a feather tickling his chin. He reaches blindly for his phone, killing the noise, and blinks against the soft morning sunlight drifting in through Ryan’s window.

Ryan’s still asleep, thankfully. This close Shane can see the shadows beneath his eyes, even without his glasses, and they’re deep, a testament to Ryan’s long, sleepless weekend. Shane makes the split-second decision not to wake him, and another not to go into work today. All it takes is a fib about a shared sickness to their boss and they’re in the clear; everyone had noticed Ryan’s haggard look yesterday, and considering the amount of time Shane spends in his presence, it’s not a leap to believe that he’s caught the same bug.

With work taken care of, Shane can focus on the situation at hand. Ryan’s wings are still there. Shane doesn’t know what he expected – that they’d magically poof away in the middle of the night, maybe, gone just as suddenly as they’d arrived, but nope.

_Stubborn little fuckers, aren’t you?_ Shane thinks, thumbing away the stray feather that had landed on his chin sometime during the night. There are a few of them, actually, scattered about the bed. He wonders if that’s normal.

Lord. There’s that word again, as if it has any bearing on what’s happening to Ryan now.

The wings look different in the daytime. They’re folded up against Ryan’s back, sunlight turning their white tips gold. They shift as Ryan breathes, twitching when he moves to seek a more comfortable position. They’re stunning in their surreality, the white, black, and grey feathers contrasting beautifully with Ryan’s tan skin, soft to the touch – that much Shane had been able to glean last night while he stroked them clean and smoothed them down, a task he would have to perform again if they continued to hang around; Ryan couldn’t do it on his own.

He won’t have to. Shane wasn’t joking last night – if these things are permanent, if there’s nothing they can do to get rid of them, he’ll go back to Pennsylvania and dance his way to a spiffy new pair of wings, too. It wouldn’t be so bad. They’d take care of each other.

Shane’s determined to take care of Ryan now, in whatever way he can. He’d done his research last night, jumping from site to site on his phone while Ryan slept on beside him: sites on bird care and bird anatomy, wing structure and functionality, and there are a few supplies they’ll need if they want to keep Ryan’s wings in tip-top shape.

He’s reluctant to leave the warmth of the cocoon they’ve made, though. Ryan’s arm rests over his stomach, their legs twined together and blankets tangled around them, and it would be so easy to close his eyes, slip under again, but eventually Shane shimmies out of Ryan’s hold, carefully enough that his boyfriend doesn’t even wake, just snuffles into his pillow and wraps his fingers in the warm bundle of bedding Shane leaves behind.

He makes quite the picture, lashes dark against his cheeks and sheets tangled around his waist, his feathers and the curve of his hip catching the light. Shane has to shake his head and force himself to stop staring and get dressed, though he can’t resist ducking down to press a kiss to Ryan’s brow before he leaves. It’s sappy as hell and definitely the sort of gesture that Ryan would give him shit over (all while wearing that grin that gives away how much he likes it), but damn it, he’s allowed.

Something about last night, about finding Ryan so stressed out and afraid and taking care of him, feeling him go pliant and sleep-soft beneath his hands has made Shane feel strangely sentimental, though maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised. He’s got a soft spot a mile wide for Ryan Bergara and everybody knows it; nothing wrong with indulging in it now.

He isn’t gone long. He’d left a text for Ryan in case he woke up before Shane got back, but as Shane nudges the door closed and returns the spare key to its hook an hour later, he sees he needn’t have bothered. The apartment’s silent save for the hum of the AC, and when he sneaks a peak into Ryan’s bedroom, he finds his boyfriend exactly as he’d left him, dead to the world. He’s glad, honestly. By Ryan’s own admission he’d been so panicked throughout the weekend that Shane’s sure he barely got any sleep.

Shane goes about stowing his purchases away. The bulk of it goes in the kitchen, including the makings for breakfast and a few of Ryan’s favorite snack foods, but the bottle of oil he’d spent twenty minutes picking out goes into the living room, left on the coffee table within easy reach for whenever they need it. The bag he’d packed from home, stuffed with his laptop and a few changes of clothes, gets tucked against the couch and out of the way.

He’s perched at the stove ten minutes later, the scent of sizzling bacon filling the apartment. He’s no master chef or anything, but he’s got the basics covered, and by the time he hears the soft pad of footfalls coming from the bedroom, he has two plates of eggs, bacon, and toast set out on the counter and is in the midst of pouring coffee into two waiting mugs.

“So we’re playing hooky today, huh?” Ryan asks, voice sleep-soft and a little hoarse. He’s standing in the threshold of his bedroom, eyes heavy-lidded behind his glasses, and as Shane watches, he stretches his arms lazily above his head. His wings unfold along his back, flaring out with the movement, and it’s only after he’s settled and given Shane a smug look that Shane realizes he’s been caught staring.

“I see you got my text,” he says, pretending to be engrossed in the task of carting their plates into the living room. There’s a familiar burn in his cheeks, which is frankly a little ridiculous. So what if he was ogling his boyfriend? Who wouldn’t? Ryan in the morning is already an unfairly attractive vision anyway, all bare-chested and loose-limbed. The wings add a touch of ethereal beauty that, while out of place in the otherwise familiar scape of Ryan’s L.A apartment, only serve to make him more stunning.

Not that Shane is planning on admitting that any time soon. Ryan’s already cocky enough. “Breakfast awaits, if you’re hungry.”

Ryan pads over to the couch, reaching gratefully for the mug of coffee Shane passes him before taking a seat. The sigh he breathes out after his first sip is downright obscene. “Dinner _and_ breakfast?” he asks, curling his fingers around the warmth of his mug and sending Shane a look over the rim. “You tryin’ to spoil me, Madej?”

His eyes are soft and dark, drooping with remnants of sleep, and Shane wants to touch him. So he does, reaching over to push his fingers through Ryan’s fringe, smoothing the messy strands back from his brow. “So what if I am?” he asks, delighting in the way Ryan arches into the caress. It’s a completely unconscious gesture, and all the sweeter for it. Ryan tends to bristle beneath too much coddling; he doesn’t like to be babied, doesn’t appreciate others treating him with kid gloves, not even when he’s losing his shit in the middle of a haunted house. Especially not then, actually. That’s why Shane is always so quick to tease him, to soothe his fear with humor, usually at Ryan’s expense. It’s a different brand of comfort, but it works for them, and Ryan relishes in it, those gestures of affirmation, usually in the form of Shane’s shoulder tucked against his, or a hand at the nape of his neck, or even just a simple, “I’m here,” confirmation that Shane’s not going anywhere, that he’s there if Ryan needs him. “You got a problem with that, Bergara?”

Ryan shakes his head, his eyes slow to open after Shane retrieves his hand. “Nah,” he says, warmth curling through his voice, slow and sweet. “You’re pretty good at it, gotta admit.”

Shane puffs out his chest, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “I’m a man of many talents, Ryan, what can I say?”

Ryan rolls his eyes good-naturedly, reaching for his plate. “Don’t hurt your arm patting yourself on the back, big guy,” he says, munching on some bacon. He swallows and takes another sip of coffee, the sound of cutlery scraping across ceramic filling the apartment before he asks, almost too casually, “Is that what the oil’s for?”

It’s not, but that Ryan immediately jumped to that conclusion is worth teasing him for. “Spoiling you?” Shane asks, already knowing the answer. Ryan gives him a pointed look and Shane’s lips twitch. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Bergara. The oil’s for your new friends.” It’s the first time all morning that they’ve actually addressed the wings, and Shane’s not entirely sure Ryan will appreciate his lackadaisical tone, but Shane doesn’t want to walk on eggshells here, doesn’t want to ignore the issue, either, not when he had seen the results of that approach firsthand.

Thankfully, Ryan doesn’t seem to take offense to Shane’s gentle teasing, though the expression on his face hints at his underlying discomfort. “Wouldn’t exactly call them friends,” he mutters, rubbing at his shoulder. His wings shift with the movement, a fascinating roll of skin and feathers that’s frankly fascinating to watch, though the effect is dampened by Ryan’s frown.

“Are they bothering you?” Shane asks quietly. The sight of Ryan hunched beneath their weight and flinching at the barest touch against them is still fresh in his mind. “Do they still ache?”

Ryan shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. They’re better, they _feel_ better, thanks to you.” His lips tilt into a smile, and though it’s small, it helps to ease Shane’s worry just a bit. “I just – I keep thinking about what I’ll do, what I _can_ do, if they never go away. If I have to live like this for the rest of my life.”

“Hey.” Shane abandons his plate on the coffee table, reaching for Ryan’s knee and curling his hand around warm skin. “We’ll figure it out, okay? We’ll cut holes in your clothes so you won’t have to go around like some shirtless heathen, we’ll bind them down so you can go to work and none of our coworkers will think we’re suddenly into some weird roleplay shit. Hell, we’ll skip town and find some cabin to hermit down in if that’s what it takes.”

Ryan’s smile turns a little wobbly at the edges. He leaves his half-eaten breakfast on the table and curls both of his hands around Shane’s, his eyes suspiciously bright behind his glasses. “Look at you, taking charge,” he says, laughing a little. It’s shaky, but it’s still Shane’s favorite sound in the whole goddamn world. “Nothing phases you, does it, big guy?” 

“My tolerance for weird shit is through the roof,” Shane says, nodding, and then, because he can’t fucking help it, he leans down to catch Ryan’s lips in a kiss, mouth moving softly against his for a few moments, just until he feels the tension ease from Ryan’s frame. He pulls back and gives Ryan a smile. “Now finish your breakfast and I’ll tell you what the oil is for.”

Ryan grumbles, something about Shane being a mother hen, but does as he’s told, and it’s later, as Shane’s carting their dishes into the kitchen and then grabbing a few towels to spread out on the floor, that he explains the necessity of the oil.

“Birds do this thing,” he’s saying, settling in behind Ryan on the floor and reaching for the bottle. “It’s called preening. Not to be confused with that thing you do whenever you get to take off your shirt for a video.”

Ryan barks a laugh, shoulders shaking, and though Shane can’t see, he can imagine the grin on his face.

“Keeping their feathers clean is a part of it, getting rid of all those nasty parasites that like to hitch a ride on their wings – something you don’t have to worry about, apparently – but there’s also the issue of keeping them lubricated for flight. Granted, these puny things probably won’t be seeing any air time any time soon – “

“Hey,” Ryan interrupts, sounding offended on behalf of his wings, and Shane suppresses a grin.

“Just stating facts, babe. Anyway, since you don’t happen to have a handy gland that secretes oil yourself, we’re gonna have to improvise to keep these puppies from drying out.” He twists the cap off the bottle of oil, spilling it into a bowl he’d snatched from the kitchen. He’d had no idea which kind would work best, and had eventually settled on a brand meant for sensitive skin that carried no scent.

“How do you even know about all this – “ Ryan starts, only to huff out a soft laugh and shake his head. “You fucking Googled it, didn’t you?”

Shane allows his silence to speak for itself, though he can’t resist a subtle dig as he slicks his fingers with the oil. “That’s a mighty high horse you’re ridin’, Mr. Wiki-How,” he says, and smirks as Ryan flips him off. “Now, stay still, okay? And tell me if anything feels weird.”

He starts at the base of Ryan’s left wing, carefully working his fingers through the feathers closest to his body. He goes slowly, steadily working the oil in, shifting through the soft, smooth feathers along the front of Ryan’s wing and then to the pillow of down hidden beneath. As he drifts further only the curve of the wing, he marvels as it stretches out beneath his hands, moving smoothly beneath his fingers. He wonders if it’s by Ryan’s doing, or if the action is completely unconscious, and he opens his mouth to ask, only to be stopped by a short, sudden intake of breath.

He stops immediately, slick fingers buried in Ryan’s feathers. “You okay, Ry?”

Ryan nods his head, though his breaths have grown a little heavy. “M’good,” he mumbles, as though sensing that Shane doesn’t quite believe him.

He doesn’t sound like he’s in pain, but Shane lightens his touch anyway, continuing along the curve of Ryan’s wing until he’s worked the oil into the last batch of feathers at the tip. He can already see a difference between one wing and the other; the one freshly coated in oil gleams in the light pouring in from the windows, feathers smooth and uniform. Ryan seems to be holding up alright, too, his occasional heavy breaths notwithstanding.

“Starting on the second one now,” Shane forewarns, slicking his fingers again, and gets to work on Ryan’s right wing. He loses himself in the rhythm, the smooth strokes of damp fingers along soft down, taking periodic breaks to dip into the bowl to reapply oil before he gets right back to it.

He hesitates as Ryan’s shoulders start to tremble, just a bit, his wings following suit and shivering beneath Shane’s palms. “Ryan?” he asks, concerned. “Am I hurting you?”

Ryan shakes his head. “N-no. No, it’s fine. You can keep going.” There’s a breathy quality to his voice that seems awfully fucking familiar, and Shane squints suspiciously, ducking around Ryan’s side to glance at his face.

And oh. _Oh_.

Ryan’s eyes are closed, lashes resting dark against his cheeks. There’s a noticeable flush high on his cheekbones, and his teeth have sunken into his bottom lip, chewing listlessly as Shane continues to shift through his feathers, fingers reaching deep and then deeper still, down into the layer of soft down feathers on the underside of his wing. Ryan’s brows draw together at the touch, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. That’s not the expression of someone in pain. That’s… something else.

All it takes is a quick glance downward to confirm Shane’s suspicions, and his heart begins to pound as he leans back, his fingers never ceasing in their task, even as his mind races.

“Ryan?” he asks, his voice husky with the realization that Ryan’s reacting to his touch in a way that Shane honestly hadn’t expected.

“Y-yeah?”

“Are you hard, right now?” It’s not his smoothest delivery ever, but fuck it, it’s kind of hard to think when his fingers are buried in warm softness and Ryan’s sitting there with a boner because of it. He’d seen the evidence for himself, Ryan’s boxers doing nothing to hide the state of his dick, and Ryan’s soft, almost reluctant, “ _Yeah_ ,” sends a hot flood of arousal straight to the pit of Shane’s belly.

“Because of this?” He curls his fingers within Ryan’s feathers, taking care not to be rough but no longer keeping his touch quite so light, and Ryan _shudders_ , letting out a muffled curse.

“Christ, Shane,” he bites out, his shoulders hunching as he curls into himself, wings trembling along his back. His breaths have grown deep and heavy, nearly a pant. “Feels like it’s going straight to my dick.”

Shane swallows, the admission sending a bolt of heat straight through him. “Yeah? What about this?” He tucks both hands beneath Ryan’s wings, slipping along the hot skin of his upper back before he stuffs his fingers into that layer of soft down feathers and sinks them in deep.

Ryan jerks forward like he’s just touched a livewire, a strangled shout leaving his lips. He reaches back, scrabbling for Shane, and Shane’s there to meet him halfway, hands slipping along Ryan’s sides as he turns him around, ducking down to seal their mouths together the moment he’s able. Ryan opens up to him immediately, a moan rumbling against Shane’s lips, and the next few moments are rife with heat and heavy breaths and the slick, muted pop of their kisses.

Ryan’s hands curl into his flannel, a throaty groan echoing in his chest as Shane’s tongue dips into his open mouth, stroking along the ridges of his teeth and tangling with his own. It only draws Shane’s attention to the fact that he’s completely dressed and Ryan’s only wearing a single scrap of fabric that does nothing to hide how turned on he is, and arousal thrums through Shane’s blood as he pulls his boyfriend into his lap, relishing in the heat of so much skin beneath his grasping hands.

They’re quick to settle into a familiar rhythm, Ryan’s groin tucked against his and hips softly rolling, and Shane eases away from Ryan’s mouth to rasp, “This alright?” while his hands slip along Ryan’s sides and over his stomach, fingertips digging into the cut of his abs.

Ryan surges beneath his touch, curling his hands around Shane’s scruffy cheeks and pulling him back down into a hungry kiss. “Yeah, yes, it’s good,” he gasps, breath hitching as his hips grind down against Shane’s. He laughs softly, a shaky, breathless burst of sound as Shane allows one hand to drift over his back, fingers seeking the sleek curve of one twitching wing. “Feels fuh – fucking incredible.”

“Yeah?” Shane’s own voice has grown hoarse with arousal; he’s always been hot for how responsive Ryan is in bed, how uninhibited, how _loud_. Knowing that he’s responsible for it, for the desperate grind of Ryan’s hips, the hard jut of his cock tenting the front of his boxers, and the broken moans falling from his lips – it’s enough to have Shane straining against the zip of his jeans, his eyes going dark and hazy as Ryan writhes in his lap. “Can you cum like this?” he asks, free hand curving around Ryan’s ass while he rolls his hips up, pulling Ryan down into a lingering, aching grind that has them both gasping.

Ryan nods jerkily, mouth falling open, lips red and a little swollen from their kisses. He’s goddamn beautiful like this, all sweaty and flushed and aching for it, all because of him, and sometimes Shane thinks he could cum from that alone, the knowledge that he put that expression on Ryan’s face.

But then Ryan’s reaching for the hem of his flannel, pulling it and his undershirt up along his sides, rucking it up over his chest, and the promise of skin on skin is like a match striking flame. His shirts get tossed to the floor, both his and Ryan’s fingers scrambling between them to unbutton his jeans. They have to separate so Shane can wriggle free of them, and fire licks up his spine as he watches Ryan push the last of his own clothes over his hips, bare cock springing free and curving toward his stomach, flushed red at the tip and gleaming wet with pre-come.

Something about his nudity, all of that smooth muscle and olive skin combined with the utter strangeness but undeniable beauty of those goddamn wings does funny things to Shane’s heart, and he draws Ryan back into his arms with a fervent, “C’mere, c’mon, wanna make you cum.”

Ryan doesn’t need to be told twice, and the shock of skin against skin as he settles back into Shane’s lap makes them both groan. Shane doesn’t waste any time, just wraps his hand around Ryan’s cock with fingers still wet with oil and swallows Ryan’s shuddering moan with his own mouth, breathing hard as Ryan writhes in his hold.

“Shane,” Ryan whines, rolling his hips so that he’s fucking into Shane’s fist, pre-come smearing down the length of his shaft and slicking the way. His eyes are half-lidded and blown dark, nearly closed as he chases the friction of Shane’s smooth palm against his hard, damp flesh, and he raises his arms to twine them around Shane’s neck, fingers sinking into Shane’s wild hair and holding on tight.

“That’s it, Ry, c’mon,” Shane coos, his own breath coming short as Ryan’s ass rolls against his cock, his stomach muscles jumping as his wet cockhead slips between Ryan’s cheeks. It catches on the tight pucker of his hole, and it’s so good, so fucking _hot_ , and Ryan’s reactions make it so much better, his soft, throaty whimpers melding into hoarse grunts and desperate pleas as he nears release.

“Touch me,” he gasps, eyes wild and dark as Shane jerks him off, the slick squelch of their skin mingling with the rasp of their breaths and their scattered moans. “Please, baby, so fucking close, _fuck_.”

Shane knows what he needs, what he’s asking for, and he reaches up with his free hand to bury his fingers in one of Ryan’s wings, curling his hand around a fistful of smooth, soft feathers in time with each jerk of his fist along Ryan’s cock.

Ryan devolves into strangled pleas and desperate entreaties for more, his forehead falling against Shane’s as he chases his pleasure. Shane watches him, drinking in his sweat-slick skin and closed eyes, his slack mouth and wet, swollen lips, and those _wings_ , flared out and shivering as though caught in an invisible wind.

It’s too much, and Shane calls Ryan’s name in a broken moan as he comes, spurting against Ryan’s ass and feeling cum dripping down onto his thighs and into the nest of his pubic hair. Ryan’s not far behind, tumbling into his own orgasm with a strangled shout and spilling over Shane’s fist, breath hot and heavy against Shane’s mouth and wings trembling violently as he rides the high of his release.

They slump against each other in the aftermath, Ryan’s head tucked in the space between Shane’s neck and shoulder and his chest heaving as he works to catch his breath. His fingers card through Shane’s messy hair, pushing sweat-soaked strands back from his brow, and Shane rests his cheek against Ryan’s temple, breathless and hot and desperately content.

Ryan’s wing twitches beneath his hand, and he cracks open his eyes to see them both gleaming in the light, impossible and beautiful and strange. In that moment, watching them fold around Ryan’s shoulders, almost as though they’re protecting him, Shane feels a rush of fondness that he can’t even begin to explain.

_Maybe you guys aren’t so bad after all_ , he thinks, and huffs a laugh as they flare out in what feels like triumph.

 

They do end up cutting holes in a few shirts Ryan’s not particularly attached to, though he tends to wiggle out of them at the first opportunity, the heathen. They bind his wings down with a belt whenever Ryan needs to leave the apartment for work, and hide them beneath baggy sweatshirts or hoodies that Shane pilfers from his own closet and somehow doubts Ryan will ever return. It’s not perfect, but it works, and as soon as they’re behind closed doors Ryan’s quick to discard them all and stretch his wings out with a sigh of relief.

Shane gets used to waking up with feathers scattered across the bed and tickling his skin. He gets used to waking up in Ryan’s apartment, too, doesn’t question how they’re basically living together while they work around the particulars of wing care and maintenance. 

He gets used to working oil into skin and feathers every night, and he even grows used to the pretty way Ryan shudders when Shane stuffs his fingers in deep, and if they wind up in bed at the end of some of these nightly sessions, Shane pressing deep, biting kisses to the strip of skin between Ryan’s trembling wings and burying his fingers in soft feathers, showing Ryan without words that they can make this work, they can make this _good_ , well, Ryan doesn’t call him out on it.

And when they wake up a week later to soft sunlight and the broad, empty expanse of Ryan’s back, only a few stray black feathers to serve as reminders of their experience in the woods, Shane doesn’t think he’s the only one who feels a strange sense of melancholy as he presses his palm to the skin where Ryan’s wings used to be.

Ryan draws in a sharp breath despite their absence, the skin beneath Shane’s fingers bunching up as though it’s still just as sensitive, and in the wash of early morning light they both share a giddy, secret grin.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I blamed it on fairies. Fight me (ง'̀-'́)ง
> 
> If anyone's curious, I based Ryan's wings on a black-capped chickadee.
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://theawfuledges.tumblr.com/)!


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